“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. You’re right on time!” He leaned over for her hug, and she pressed her cheek against his, giving him a whiff of floral perfume. Now he saw, partially hidden behind her, an older gentleman wringing his hands uncertainly, like he wasn’t sure what his role was in all this. Doreen turned to Dan. “Meet Cliff Johnson, a friend from book club.”
Cliff Johnson cleared his throat and said, “Pleased to meet you, Dan.” When Dan offered his hand, Cliff enthusiastically took hold, pumping it up and down.
Doreen ushered them into the living room, where she directed Dan’s attention to the fire in the fireplace. “I think it’s dying. Dan, would you mind adding a log?” She and Cliff exchanged pleased looks, which made Dan think this whole thing was somehow orchestrated to make him feel useful. Or else something about the fire was a private joke between them. But Dan had no problem doing fire duty either way. Doreen’s fireplace was a traditional wood burner, with a red-brick facade discolored from years of soot. Dan chose a good-size log from the metal box on the floor and used the poker to insert it among the burning logs, making sure they had some space between. With the right exposure to air, the flames shot up with a satisfying whoosh. Cinders shot out of the assemblage of wood, reminding him to close the mesh curtains. When he was done, he stood back to admire it and was nudged by Doreen, who handed him a glass of white wine she seemed to have pulled out of nowhere.
“Thanks,” he said, taking an approving sip.
“I know you’re usually a beer guy, but at my house it’s wine,” she said, motioning for all of them to sit.
Because of his business, people always assumed he was a die-hard beer guy, the kind who had a mug with every meal. The truth was he enjoyed beer, but sometimes went days or weeks without it, despite having access to it at work. He’d seen the guys who gave in to temptation on a daily basis, the ones who didn’t think they were alcohol dependent because it was only beer. It was a slippery slide down to the bottom and he’d made up his mind a long time ago not to approach the edge. “No, I like wine. This is good.” He sat in a wing chair and glanced around the room while taking another sip. “When is your third guest arriving?”
“She should be here any minute,” Doreen said. She and Cliff sat so close together on the couch, there was only an inch between them. Awfully chummy for two book club friends. “Her name is Andrea. A lovely young woman.”
Cliff jumped in and said, “Andrea is my neighbor. Nice, nice girl, went through kind of a rough divorce, but she’s not one of those sad-sack bitter types. Just a great gal, I tell you. She and her little dog just bring a smile to my face.” He reached over and patted Doreen’s hand. Doreen grinned, pleased. “Sometimes I watch her dog for her. Little Muffin, I call her. Looks just like a dog I used to have years ago.”
“Did you say her name is Andrea?” Dan asked, remembering what he’d now thought of as his Andrea, the woman from the coffee shop. It had to be a coincidence. It wasn’t that uncommon a name.
“Andrea Keller!” Cliff said. “You’re going to really like her. You can’t not like her.” He had a chuckly, confident quality to his voice.
“What does she look like?” Dan asked.
Doreen gave Cliff’s thigh a gentle slap. “See and you were so worried. I told you he’d be open to meeting Andrea.”
“No really, what does she look like?” The fire flared up, momentarily distracting him. When he looked back at them, they seemed to be eyeing him with satisfaction. He explained, “I met an Andrea recently, but didn’t catch her last name. I’m wondering if it’s the same person.”
“Well, my Andrea,” Cliff said, “is real pretty. She’s a little more than thirty, and has these big doe eyes. Brown hair, but not a flat brown, more like the shampoo commercials when the light hits the girl’s hair. She’s not real tall.” He tilted his head, considering. “Not too short either, kind of medium. Has a nice smile and a fine figure.”
“Trust a man to notice that particular detail,” Doreen said with a smirk.
“The man asked what she looked like.”
“He didn’t ask for her measurements.”
“Well, I was trying to be accurate.” They were sparring like an old married couple now. Dan might as well not be in the room.
“Oh!” Cliff said, holding up one finger. “And she has a great job too. Runs a property management company. She’s like the owner’s right-hand man. Or I guess you’d say”—and now he and Doreen spoke in unison—“right-hand woman.”
Dan spoke cautiously, “Do you know the name of the company?”
“Oh, sure. McGuire Properties. The guy owns like a third of the city.”
“He’s exaggerating, of course,” Doreen told him.
Dan gripped the arm of the chair. What were the chances it would be the same woman? And yet it was. Everything matched: her name, her description, the place of employment. What an amazing coincidence. If this were in a book or movie, people would say it was too much, that it was contrived and way too convenient, but truly life could be this way sometimes. One day you’re talking about a kid you knew in grade school, someone you hadn’t seen for thirty years, and a week later you run into the guy, and find out you’ve been a customer at the same gas station for years. Synchronicity, that’s what it was. He nodded emphatically. “It’s the same woman. I’m sure she said she works for McGuire Properties.”
“How did you meet her?” Doreen asked.
“At a coffee shop. All the tables were full, so we wound up sitting together and talked for a while.” He left out the part about their first fleeting encounter in the Bodecker’s on Main parking lot. He could still envision her standing next to her car, snowflakes drifting all around like they were in a snow globe. That time, the few moments in the parking lot, had been the start of something. Something almost imperceptible, but definitely there. The coffee shop was where the attraction took hold.
“Did you like her?” Doreen asked, clearly pleased at this turn of events.
“We only spoke briefly, but yes, she was very pleasant.”
Doreen glanced at her watch. “Pleasant, but not prompt,” she said.
“She’ll be here,” Cliff assured her. “Andrea is very reliable.”
“Did you give her directions?”
“I tried to, but she didn’t want them,” Cliff said. “She has one of those thingies in her car.” He snapped his fingers. “The satellite locator thing.”
“A GPS,” Dan said.
“That’s it.” Cliff nodded. “And on her phone too. Trust me, she’ll be here. Probably just delayed by traffic.”
Knowing that Andrea was the woman from the coffee shop made the passing minutes even longer. He wanted to see her again, and Doreen’s house was a safe place to get acquainted. Doreen had an easy way with people and if the smell of the pork chops wafting from the kitchen was any indication, they were in for a real treat. Wine tended to loosen up people too. Yes, this might be a good way to learn more about her. But then again, it all felt so orchestrated. He hoped she wouldn’t think he had a hand in this—first the accidental meeting in the parking lot, then the coffee shop, now a dinner party they both were invited to. (Although dinner party was a bit of a misnomer. Could four people be a party? He thought so, but if so, it wasn’t much of one.) No, he didn’t want to seem like a stalker. Though come to think of it, the same could be said for her. Twice now she happened to show up where he was. Maybe she had planned this? The uncanny coincidences made him paranoid.
Doreen made small talk, filling in the quiet with details about their book club. He got a clear vision of the other members, most of them retirees, only two of them men—Cliff being the smarter of the two, she said. They alternated non-fiction—thick biographies and histories—with novels, some light reads, others heavy literary tomes. “As soon as I hear a book has lush prose, I know I’m going to hate it,” Cliff said. “That’s w
hen it’s time to skim.”
“Those are my favorites,” Doreen said, laughing. “They take a little patience, but it pays off. You learn to savor those kinds of books.”
Cliff wasn’t buying it. “I’m too old to savor. Just tell me a story, that’s what I want.” He rubbed his temples as if the thought of reading something complex made his head ache.
Dan watched the back and forth between the two and saw it all unfolding in front of him. Even if they weren’t in love now, they would be soon enough, and Cliff and Doreen would wind up married. They’d do this dance for a while, the book club, the dinners, the late-night conversations, and eventually they’d do the math and figure it made no sense to keep two separate places when they were always back and forth. They would have a late act chance of happiness. It was possible for some people.
Finally, after twenty minutes of polite conversation, Doreen said to Cliff, “You better call her and see if she’s still coming. Those pork chops can’t wait much longer.”
Cliff fumbled a phone out of his shirt pocket, and took a long time scrolling through his contacts looking for Andrea’s number. Dan could imagine Lindsay having a field day with that one, doing an impersonation for her friends, showing them the way Cliff squinted at the screen. They weren’t mean kids; they just didn’t understand. They grew up with technology all around them and had no way of knowing how it snuck up on the older generation, how Dan and everyone else who was older would just get the hang of something when it morphed into something else, something more complex. They wanted to keep up, they really did, it just required three times more effort than it did for the young people.
Cliff finally found her number and pushed “Call,” then listened, his ear right up against it even though it was on speakerphone. It rang once, twice, three times. Just when Dan thought it would go to voice mail, a woman answered, “Hello.” One word, but it was clipped and ragged, like they’d caught her in the middle of a good cry.
“Andrea? Honey? This is Cliff. I’m over at Doreen’s. Where are you?” He scratched his head, a look of intense concentration on his face. Off to one side, the fireplace hissed and crackled.
Dan heard a stifled sob coming from the other end of the phone. “Cliff, I’m sorry, I can’t talk.”
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s Anni. Marco tried to take her and she ran into the street and got hit by a car.”
“Oh no,” Cliff said, his hand flying to his chest. “Oh Andrea, I’m so sorry. That’s terrible.”
“We’re going to the vet now.” She sniffed. In the background a man asked her a question they couldn’t make out. She said, “I have to go. Tell Doreen I’m sorry.” An audible click ended the call.
“Who’s Anni?” Doreen asked.
“It’s her little dog, the one I was telling you about,” Cliff said. “Cutest little thing, smart too. Poor Anni, hit by a car.” His eyes glinted with tears. “I can’t stand thinking about her being hurt.” He swiped his eyes awkwardly with his knuckles.
“I thought her name was Muffin,” Doreen said.
“No, no.” He waved his hand like wiping away the misunderstanding. “That’s just what I call her. Her name is really Anni.”
A shiver ran through Dan. He asked, “What does Anni look like?”
Doreen saw where this was going and rushed in to explain, “It’s just that Dan and Lindsay lost a dog and her name—” but Dan had already gotten his phone out and found a photo. He thrust the phone in front of Cliff’s face. “Does she look like this?”
Cliff leaned in to look, his eyebrows furrowed. “Now how did you get a picture of Andrea’s dog?”
“That’s not Andrea’s dog. She’s my dog,” Dan said. “She was stolen from us.”
Cliff raised his eyebrows. “She sure looks like the same dog. But Andrea wouldn’t have stolen your dog. She’s a good person.”
Dan felt all the blood leave his face. “Call her back. Right now. Call her and ask where she got the dog.” A frantic feeling came over him, a knot in his stomach that said Anni might be dead or dying and he had to know. He had to know if it was her.
Cliff didn’t want to, judging by the way he stalled, saying first that he didn’t think this was the right time because Andrea was clearly devastated and then that he was sure it was just a coincidence, but Dan was persistent, so he tried again. It didn’t matter, though. Andrea didn’t answer the phone, which gave Dan the sinking feeling that once again Anni had been right within his reach, but pulled cruelly away before they could connect.
Doreen tried to smooth things over. “No point in getting all upset until we know the facts, Dan. I’m sure we’ll get this settled in the next day or so. Until then, I wouldn’t jump to any conclusions.”
Dan knew he should let it go, but he just couldn’t. He heard himself going on about it, showing Cliff more pictures, telling them about the incident at the nursing home, and Lindsay’s dream of Christine saying they’d get Anni back. Cliff was already upset and all of Dan’s rambling wasn’t helping, but he just couldn’t seem to stop. He saw a look pass between the two that said he’d gone off the deep end. At least that’s how he interpreted it. Doreen had them sit down to eat, and still Dan talked, going on about how smart Anni was and speculating about all the ways she could have wound up in Andrea’s possession. “Maybe she’s a friend of the people who took her?” he mused. “Or bought her from them?”
“You’re making yourself sick over this,” Doreen said in a motherly way. “Why not just wait and see?”
Cliff shook his head. “Andrea wouldn’t be friends with people like that. She’s a classy gal.” His mouth came together in a thin line and he glanced off to one side, like he was trying to remember. “I think she said one of the tenants had her and they weren’t supposed to have dogs, so she wound up with her.”
“And it may not even be your Anni, but an incredible coincidence,” Doreen said lightly, passing Dan her homemade applesauce. He dutifully spooned some on to his plate. She could have been serving anything, none of the flavors registered, his mind stuck on the idea that Andrea, someone he’d actually met, might have his dog. And somehow let Anni get hit by a car. It took all he had to keep from looking up every vet emergency place in the tri-county area, getting in his car, and systematically checking each one for Anni. Calling would be faster, but he knew sometimes that was no good. You got the answering service, who paged the doctor, who called you back. If you were lucky. Most of the services were being replaced by voice mail nowadays.
This inner turmoil reminded him of a time when he was a kid, about ten or eleven, and his dad was late coming home from a hunting trip. The weather was bad, snow turned to sleet that then froze, turning all the roadways into skating rinks. The local news coverage showed accidents up and down the interstate, and Dan’s mother had paced the floor, determined that her husband had been in an accident. By the time he walked through the door, two hours past due, but safe and sound, she’d worked herself into a frenzy, and threw herself into his arms sobbing with relief that he was still alive. At the time, Dan had thought she was being ridiculous. Overly dramatic. But now, he understood.
After dinner he helped Doreen and Cliff clear the table, then said, “I don’t want to be rude, but I really think I should head for home.”
Doreen nodded like she had been expecting this. Cliff said, “Would you mind giving me a lift home?” Of course Dan said it was no problem. He’d spoiled the evening; driving Cliff home was the least he could do.
In the car, he tried to get Cliff to give him Andrea’s phone number, without success. “I just wouldn’t feel comfortable giving it out without her permission,” Cliff said. “But I’ll give you my number and you give me yours, and I’ll let you know the minute I hear anything. Promise.”
When they got to Cliff’s place, Dan pulled up in front of his condo and stopped to program the numbers into each of thei
r phones. “Thanks,” Cliff said, taking the phone from his hand. “Well, good night, then.”
He opened the door, but before he could get out, Dan asked, “Which one is Andrea’s place?” In the dark, all the condos looked the same, each section connected like a strip mall and set up in rows like the streets of a small village.
“It’s that one over there.” Cliff pointed. “The one with the blinds down.”
Dan followed the line of his finger to the end unit across the street. “She’s right on the end?”
“Yes, indeed.” Cliff shook his head. “So horrible about what happened to her little dog. I’ll be praying for her, that’s for sure.”
Dan wasn’t sure if he meant Anni or Andrea, but the sentiment was nice either way. He sat in the car with the engine idling and waited until the old guy went into the house. Then he turned the car around, and parked on the side of Andrea’s unit, out of Cliff’s sight. If it took all night, he was going to wait for Andrea to come home.
THIRTY-EIGHT
The old man who hit Anni felt terrible, apologizing over and over again, but Andrea couldn’t even acknowledge him, much less console him. She looked at Anni lying there in the street and for an excruciatingly long minute was sure she was dead. Please, please, please, ran through her head, a prayer and a plea combined, and when she reached out to stroke Anni, and Anni moved just slightly, a tremor more than anything else, she felt like her prayer had been answered. Andrea lifted her head and screamed, “Someone call for help!”
She took in the scene all at once: the older gentleman, nattily dressed in a navy peacoat and newsboy cap, wringing his hands, tears streaming down his face; Carter, the cashier from Spirits, running toward them from across the street; a random middle-aged couple who’d stopped their car and were walking over to see what had happened; and Marco, who lingered around the fringes like a malevolent spirit. Carter said, “I just called 9-1-1. The cops are on their way.”
Anni whined and Andrea turned her attention back to her, making soothing noises. “It’s okay, baby. It’s okay.”
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